Sunday Morning, Yellow Sky
by iceprincessinfinity
Summary: A deep look into the mind of Eric Cartman. No expected updates until August, but please read anyway - I promise that it isn't a cliffhanger. Rated Teen because it's South Park, after all.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own South Park or Eric Cartman, Matt and Trey and Comedy Central do. Also, _Sunday Morning, Yellow Sky _is a song by October Project, specific copyright to Emil and Julie Flanders. It is a song of a prisoner, trapped inside himself and running from his imagination - or at least that's how I look at it. I thought it would be perfect as a title to this fanfic.

**Author's Note:** For some time now, I have longed to delve deep into the mind of Eric Cartman. He is certainly the most expressive character on South Park. His appearence changes more than any other character, and he is probably one of the most intelligent, although evil, characters. I haven't decided how this story will play out at all, so I'm guessing you'll be waiting a long time for an update. And when I say a long time, I really do mean a long time. I have a vacation coming up on July 17, where I might get some inspiration. So don't expect anything until August.

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**Prologue**

I never realized how the sky played through all the different emotions through the course of the night. I have always seen the sky during the day – white, light blue, blue, pure blue, gray. All the variety that somehow seemed the same. But the night was different, somehow. The sky never got to be completely black. You would think that at a time like midnight, the sky would be a dark pitch black. But it never was. The sky was really only dark around 10 or so. That's as dark as it was going to get. At midnight, the sky was light. It wasn't so light that it would show through the windows, or anything. But it was light enough to make everything look peaceful. Ha. Peace. I snort with apparent laughter as my mind replays the word. Nothing is peaceful. You look at the world and think that it's all going to be okay someday, but it's all a lie. There is no such thing as peace.

Now it's 3 in the morning, and maybe I should be thinking about finally getting some sleep. But the sky is mesmerizing, and I don't really want to take my eyes off it. I always imagined that at 3, the sky would have dimmed to some faded midnight blue, like the color of old blue jeans. I had thought that at 3, it's rather like the point of no return. You survived through the night, and you can make it to morning, but you're stuck in a limbo because you can't remember when the light changed and when it'll change again. Instead, the sky is red. Not the fiery red of passion, but the thick red of blood. Almost like the sky is an open wound, screaming out its agony to any that will listen. And maybe that's what the rain is for. Maybe when it rains it's washing away the blood that's yet to come. But it isn't really blood. It's just the sunlight, washing you in guilt. Ha. I allow myself to laugh again at the thought of guilt, an emotion that plagues many people. Because it never plagues me. Never before have I felt the touches of guilt consume me. No, I have played off other people's guilt so many times I believe I have an understanding of it. But I have never experienced it. And so I laugh at the rising sun, for thinking it has fooled me.

My name is Eric Theodore Cartman, and I enjoy looking at the sky at night. For the sky at night reveals so many true emotions. Why, sometimes I think I can make my entire study of people just by stargazing, and paying close attention to the light. And sometimes, I go off daydreaming of the future while staring at the sky. Because someday, that sky will be mine. Mine to know and understand, mine to own. But for now, the sky is something to be admired, for it is one thing in the world that is greater than myself. And on a Sunday morning such as this, I admire the sky. For it is morning, now, and the sun has risen to greet the dawn, bathing the red which once was with first an orange, and now a yellow, glow.

Sunday morning, yellow sky.

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**Author's Note: **These are actually a few thoughts I had, although laughing at the words is an invention just for the character. I happened to not be able to sleep one night and took some notes of the night sky, and I noticed these patterns. Originally, these thoughts would have gone to my other story, _A Pure Beginning_. However, none of the characters that I was focusing on really needed it. Eric did. So that is why this story was born. I hope you like it, and if you have any idea what I should do with it then please review, email, something. I need your help on this one.


	2. Graveyard

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park. I also don't own the _italicized lines_. Those are lyrics belonging to October Project.

**Author's Note: **Surprise! It's out early! This takes a lot of thought and a spot of inspiration though, so I still see the process of this as being slow. This chapter practically borders on being a songfic, only I'm just using a few lyrics from different songs. Everything in italics is from a song, and here's the order (including repeats):

1) Sunday Morning, Yellow Sky – October Project  
2) After the Fall – October Project  
3) After the Fall – October Project  
4) Funeral in His Heart – October Project  
5) Funeral in His Heart – October Project  
6) Funeral in His Heart – October Project  
7) Funeral in His Heart – October Project  
8) Deep as You Go – October Project

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**Graveyard**

It's always something, with me. It's the way I see things differently from other people, the way I feel things differently than other people. I know what has happened; I know what's to come. _The night ahead is a long uncertain dream. _I know what's to come because I know that you can't know what's to come. I love how other people sit around and try to predict the future, or go so far as to say something is certain. Nothing is completely certain, ever. I learned that the hard way when I was younger. I spent my childhood telling people exactly what was going to happen. I even was believed to have psychic abilities, at one point. But none of it was true. I'm very good at manipulating the future, very good indeed. But even one such as I cannot tell you all of what the future holds in store for you. It's something that you have to figure out as you grow up. And you can't just wait for the future to come to you. Sometimes to make the future what it's supposed to be, you have to do something about it. You need to make mistakes in life to prevent yourself from making more later. Somehow, that restores my sense of faith in the world.

I'm walking around in the one place I can find solitude here. _Where secrets unravel and fates intertwine. _Where I can still see the ghosts of my past. The graveyard. That large headstone over there? Think of it as my hopes and dreams. _The farther you run, the more you recall. _How true that is, how very true. I have tried to run from my past, but the more I run, the more I remember…it silently sneaks into my mind and takes my thoughts away from me. I should be the only one to have control over my mind. But I don't, and that is another thing I have come to accept, in time. There are so many things that I've come to accept. I'm not happy with them and I never will be, but I tolerate them and their existence. Yes, I've changed. I've learned that I can't expect the whole world to obey my commands and that I couldn't just slide through life. But you can't blame a man for trying.

_He had a dream  
__It was haunting him at night.  
__It would fly into his hands…  
__So he tried to cage it,  
__But he only made it fly away._

I once wished I could make the world a better place by getting rid of all the minority groups. I started with Jews and Gingers, and I moved onto others in time. I spent all my time thinking of this, and how I could carry out my plan. But when the time finally came to execute it, I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to do it. And so not only did I bring humiliation upon myself, but I lost any hope of my dream ever coming true. Maybe it's for the better. I really don't know.

_He heard a song  
__It was running from his mind.  
__It was singing from the past…  
__So he tried to sing it,  
__But he found he could not make it last._

Just the glimmer of hope from my failed attempt remained in my mind. Some might say it left me broken. But I think I may just be fixed. Every time I manage to hold onto my hope just a little longer, and everything seems better. It calls to me like nothing else does, I wonder if that was the reason I was put on this Earth to begin with. So I answer the call in spirit, begging to be set free, begging to have my true purpose be known to me. But the time fades, and I am left here once again.

_He was alone  
__With a picture of his life,  
__On the outside looking in;  
__So he tried to change it,  
__But he had lost the person he had been._

I'm always alone now. I'm always left to ponder what went wrong and what happened. Being alone doesn't bother me anymore. I think I was always alone to begin with within my heart. I try to see myself as an outsider does, always. It helps me put my thoughts and actions more into perspective. But as much as I wish I could go back, I can't. No one can change the past. I can't bring back the prideful days where nothing ever went wrong. All I can do is hope for a brighter future.

_The world is falling apart;  
__He's getting older,  
__And there's a funeral in his heart._

The end of the world as we know it has come. And soon another end will follow it, becoming faster and faster until we burn ourselves out on change. Nothing ever stays the same as it was. We're all growing up, little by little. All our childhood hopes and dreams are buried in the graveyard of our minds. I think they all mourn for them, each and every day. But I never waste my time to cry over spilled milk. What's done is done, and now I must plan for the future.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever had any friends to begin with. Everyone has friends, but I don't bother to hide my personality from anybody. I know that my "friends" thought me no better than shit. Admittedly, I didn't treat them well. But I never treated anyone well. I don't know how to deal with someone truly caring for me unless they have to. My mother was forced to care for me out of guilt and family bonds. My teachers were forced to care for me out of duty for the school. My "friends" were never there when I needed them. I had a tortured childhood, one that brought me to mental hospital after mental hospital, searching for what was wrong. But they could never find anything – they still can't find anything to this day. I'm quite a bit smarter than anyone likes to think. Did it ever occur to them that I fake symptoms of mental problems just to infiltrate their facility? Of course not. They're not as smart as me. But I don't mind. Stupidity helps people like me get ahead in the world, what do I have against dumb people?

The night has reached me now, and I do think it is time to sleep. It is not creepy to sleep in a cemetery. The dead are resting there already, and they're peaceful and happy where they are. There is no reason I shouldn't enjoy being able to sleep in such a peaceful a place as the graveyard. Turning, I face the nearest headstone and read the inscription.

_Don't save me, don't lose me,  
__Don't wake me now.  
__You left me, you release me,  
__Let me drown…take me down._

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**Author's Note:** So, what do you think? I think this came out pretty good, considering I haven't slept in twenty-four hours. I hope this chapter helps to bring you a little more into Cartman's mind. There were a lot of lyrics in here, true, but they were my inspiration and I needed them to pull this chapter together. Anyway, please review and let me know how this chapter really turned out…I hope it met your expectations.


	3. Author's Note

**If you're not interested in reading the extended apology and explanation (which is the same for all of my stories that aren't completed), then skip on down to the end where I tell you about the updates on this specific story.**

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I owe everyone on here an apology, whether you like or hate my stories, whether you have read them a million times or not at all, if you've been waiting for the update or didn't care when I got back to it. But mostly, this apology is for the people who love my stories, and wanted me to get back to writing. Because I feel bad for leaving you hanging for almost an entire year. I feel terrible for making you all think I had abandoned my stories and was never coming back. And I feel even worse because I can't promise that this won't happen again.

It started during the summer. I went on vacation, and didn't have an internet connection for the month I was there. Obviously, I couldn't update then.

It continued when I got back and started my sophomore year of college. I needed good grades this semester. So I ignored my stories, and studied instead.

I won't even bother trying to hide that I've been having trouble with writing since I've gotten a boyfriend. He wants to be a writer, and somehow I feel like I'm stealing his career from him. I don't want to be a writer; I want to be a mathematician.

Then came winter break. I was grounded for all of winter break, and didn't have a computer. When I got it back, I wanted to start writing again. I really did.

Only I didn't realize I would be using that time to learn how to drive, and go to driving school to get both my behind-the-wheel hours and classroom hours. So once again, this was postponed.

Halfway through the course, I came down with strep. I'll admit that I'm almost never sick, and this was only the second time in my life that I've ever been on antibiotics.

On the eighth day of my antibiotics, I discovered that I was extremely allergic to them, and spent several hours in the emergency room for the next three days until I could manage the reaction on my own. It still took two weeks to fade.

Only now that all my issues cleared up, my parents went on antibiotics, and I was required to help them with everything because they were too sick to do it themselves.

And even now as I'm writing this up, my dad is in the hospital with some as yet unknown disease. I don't know when he's coming home, I don't know if he even will come home, and it's tearing me apart because my dad is practically my best friend.

So I apologize that I'm being so slow with the updates. I'll admit that from summer to the winter break I could have been updating, but I was too lazy to do it. If I had known all this would happen, I would have updated. But I didn't know, and now I'm trying to make up for lost time.

Thanks for listening and hopefully understanding. Continue on for the story update.

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**Sunday Morning, Yellow Sky: **Ah. You again. Yes, you're used to waiting a while for the updates on this story. I think I can say this is officially on hiatus. I keep on getting asked to put a storyline in here. I must confess: there is none. This is just trying to figure out how Cartman's brain works, and that's about it. No plot, no nothing. Just Cartman, alone with his thoughts. Now, you're either along for the ride in this wacky medical examination, or you have unfortunately just been declared too short to get on. Sorry about that. Now, updates. Well, don't hold your breath. I'm updating this story last, I believe. I don't think anyone is watching this story like a hawk anyway. If you are, please tell me! I'll update when and if I can, so perhaps sometime this summer we'll be looking at a new chapter.


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